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Refrigerator Relationship

I have a kind of love/hate relationship with my refrigerator. Some of you may wonder why I’m nurturing any kind of a relationship at all with my appliances. Well, if it’s got to be in your house, you must have at least a working relationship with it, because if not, you have no influence over it when it goes on the fritz. Not that my reasoning with an appliance has ever fixed it, but I believe the repair bills could cost substantially more if my appliances couldn’t tolerate me.

My refrigerator is the one I’m closest to. It shares everything with me even if I have just committed to a diet. Opening the door is like an invitation to Valhalla. Maybe I shouldn’t open the door, but it beckons me: “Come on, Laura, just this once. I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

So I grab the door and a world of possibilities opens before me: cheesecake, chocolate pudding, leftover lasagna. The refrigerator whispers sweet nothings in my ear: “Go on, Laura. You lost 3 pounds this week. You owe yourself a piece of cheesecake.”

It makes perfect sense, which you wouldn’t normally expect from a refrigerator. Maybe mine went to an Ivy League school for major appliances. After I gorge myself on cheesecake, I hate my refrigerator, which doesn’t make any sense at all, but I was only an average student.

The worst time of the day is when I have to determine what to have for dinner. I go to my refrigerator and peer inside. Nothing jumps out at me so I close that door and open the freezer. There’s that box of Swedish meatballs that’s been in there for almost a year. They were buy one get one free, but after we ate one box, my husband left half of them on his plate and asked me if the cat had eaten yet - a sure sign he didn’t like them. I don’t know why I’m saving them. Perhaps for the day we run out of cat food. I’ll have a back-up.

There is a crusted-over Kielbasa that was never put in a freezer bag. If not for the guilt I feel about starving people in third world countries, I would probably throw that out.

The various boxes of Hot Pockets, Bagel Bites, and Pizza Rolls are not enough for an entire meal, but the kids love them. Don’t think I haven’t thought about plopping a Hot Pocket in the toaster oven and serving it for dinner. However, my husband would be looking around for the rest of the meal.

There are about six bags, ¼ full, of frozen vegetables that I have saved in case I make soup or in the eventuality that a random body part becomes swollen. After looking around in there for a few minutes, I’ve finally determined something: I need to go shopping. My refrigerator agrees.

So, Pizza Hut it is!

My husband is an after-dinner snacker, so he’ll be visiting my refrigerator later tonight. Unfortunately, he’ll be stuck with a few partly shriveled seedless grapes and four-day old Hamburger Helper, because I already ate the cheesecake. He’ll probably be having a little talk with my refrigerator to try to secure its loyalty. He won’t win, though. You have to spend a lot of time with your appliance to develop the kind of relationship I have with my refrigerator. He’s not even close.